


Why I'll Never Go Back to The Thunderdome

by Tyellas



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Canon Backstory, Feminism, Friendship, Gen, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, POV First Person, The Thunderdome, Wasteland Afterschool Special, doing shots with War Boys, mentoring, sorry but Furiosa insisted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-21
Updated: 2015-10-21
Packaged: 2018-04-27 09:54:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5043835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyellas/pseuds/Tyellas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Furiosa tries to mentor Toast with a cautionary tale from her past as an Imperator – about a wild night in Gastown watching a possible Vuvalini, a woman fighter vying for a sacred V8 engine, and the fighter's opponent at the Gastown Thunderdome...Max.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why I'll Never Go Back to The Thunderdome

When the healers lit the evening lights, a hand slid into Furiosa’s isolated corner, setting a lantern on a shelf. It was one of the gentle changes in the Infirmary after the fall of Immortan Joe. Furiosa still seethed at being under quarantine.

The chief Vuvalini healer had insisted. “I hope it's only a cough, this bug you picked up negotiating in Gastown. You don’t have to tell me the air there is barely breathable. There’s also the water, and the crowds you went through during the Amnesty. Humans aren’t the only living beings who mutated after the Fall. We need you isolated until we know for sure.” Furiosa was turning this over when she heard women’s voices outside her isolation curtain.

They sounded happy. “I’m so glad it’s you! I can let you through because you’ve been in Gastown, too.” Cheedo’s smiling face peered in, followed by the rest of her, carrying a small tray. “Toast is back from the trade run.”

Toast slid in after her, swinging a yellow breathing mask on two fingers. “Gastown says hi. They seem happy with the new trade terms.”

Furiosa gave the cough that replaced her laugh at the moment. “They never.”

“Well, okay, Gastown said, ‘give us our barter, bitches,’ and grabbed it with both hands.” Cheedo giggled, and Furiosa choked back another cough. “It went fine. No problems. I bartered you this, for next time.” With a flick of Toast’s wrist, the ugly yellow mask landed on the bed.

“Thanks. Anything else?”

Cheedo took this as her cue. “Can you spit on this slide again? Melita wants another look. You need to have that scarf on! And you need to take these. Once you take the muscle relaxer, you should be able to stop coughing enough to sleep. Drink the cough syrup second and don’t have any water afterwards for half an hour.” She flourished little beakers of dark liquid. Furiosa downed the liquids. She needed to ask the healer what new herbs from Keep’s revived seed stash lurked in them. The mix never went down the same twice, and something in there could fetch a hefty profit in Gastown.

When Cheedo bustled away, Toast lingered, shifting on her feet. “We’re back late because of what I did. After I saw all those Wastelanders there for the Amnesty, I asked around Gastown about my old tribe. The one I was taken from by the Citadel. My family. Nobody’s heard of them, any more. I guess the raid that took me was thorough.” Toast’s head bowed. She kept her voice neutral to say, “Did you ever hear anything? When you were raiding for the Immortan?”

It was costing Toast, to ask that so calmly. “Think I was on the Rig runs then. Twelve hundred days ago?” When Toast agreed, Furiosa had to say, “If the Citadel took them, then, they’re broken by now. Dead or far away is better.”

Toast looked even sadder. Furiosa felt herself flood with concern. Who had Toast been talking to in Gastown, trying to get her information? Had she been handing out bribes, or backed up by armed War Boys? Armed and blustering, herself? It was time to warn Toast about…a lot of things.

Furiosa wasn’t supposed to talk much, but this was, suddenly, imperative. “It’s hard to track people in Gastown. Once I thought I saw a Vuvalini there. That was the first time I saw Max, too.”

Toast’s black-and-white eyes opened in amazement. “You saw Max before he came to the Citadel?”

Furiosa moved the mask from beside her, and gestured to Toast to sit on the cot. Eyes still wide, Toast came and sat close.

“I’ll tell you about it. About that woman, and a fighter I saw, and Max. And why I’ll never go back to the Thunderdome.” Furiosa gazed beyond Toast, into the wavering light of the kerosene lantern. “This was three Amnesties ago. About a thousand days…”

* * *

For me, it began with a V8 engine.

You saw the Gastown Thunderdome: their all-comers cage fight, staged over the Amnesty. Gastown's always had the Amnesty, since before it was ruled by the Immortan, the People Eater, and the Bullet Farmer. Those three were the Triumverate, and they added the Thunderdome game to the Amnesty. Used to be their way of drawing out the feral fighters – many enter, one man leaves. Saved them the trouble of killing them off, having them kill each other for the sake of a prize. Usually a bike. Three Amnesties ago, they put up a restored V8 engine.

It was a good prize. Too good. It was all tied up in the cult around the Immortan: a heap of smeg about a sacrifice from civilization to the Wasteland. Three Amnesties ago was right after the Immortan’s crazy son, Scabrous Scrotus, got piked by a scavenger out in the wastes. Some said that a holy V8 was being sacrificed to the Thunderdome so that the Immortan could sire a new, stronger son.

Nobody heard that from me. I never talked the cult down, not as an Imperator, but I never believed it. The Immortan was no father. No god. That V8, though, that I believed in. The Repair Boys worked on it for weeks at the Citadel. High horsepower, freshly chromed valves, clean pistons. Pure heavy metal. Even had a name: the Boss 351 Cleveland. I lent the Repair Boys some of my tools, kept going back to watch them make it perfect. It bothered me. It was a waste to send it out like that, like a cast-out Wife. I thought at the time that nobody in the Wasteland deserved it.

Someone had to run it to Gastown. That Amnesty, it was me and the War Rig. As the ranking officer on the run, I was supposed to stay and Witness it given away. Like it was dying. The Prime Imperator, a real schlanger, said he was glad it wasn’t his run. That the Buzzards had heard about the V8 and wanted it hard. Vehicles and good engines are sacred to them, too. I told him the Buzzards would eat my dust, like usual, and that he could go schlang himself. Being picked seemed to be a sign of – favor, you'd call it. Success in the Citadel.

We know now why the Immortan always “honored” a Citadel officer like that. He’d have been a target in Gastown during the Amnesty.

The Rig crew loved going. It was the Immortan’s sacred trust, plus a fight guaranteed to open the doors of Valhalla. The Ace was my second, then. He kept the crew grounded: said it was better to stay alive and deliver, and then party down the Amnesty. I kept my mouth shut. Gastown had been nothing but trouble for me. Harassment. Fights. Weirdness. Normally, I’d just do Citadel business and get out. But, this time…this Amnesty…Scabrous was dead. Gastown had to be better with him gone. Thought I’d go with my crew and see.

It was a good run out, with the engine.

What was to like? A lot. I was in charge. The driving was good, the Boys all coming together. The sky felt bigger. A road battle? That was a chance to win.

Sure enough, the Buzzards attacked. I don’t have to warn you about them. Some say they have visions that tell them where to raid. I don’t want to believe in Wasteland curses and magic, the vision smeg. But I never did a special run where the Buzzards didn’t show. They always seem to attack out of nowhere, too.

When they did, our Boys were on point. The bike Boys rode like dust devils, their grenades always hit. Defense vehicles stayed tight. Lancers deployed a risky strategy – explosives on the ground between vehicles – keeping the Buzzards back. One Buzzard got a look at the engine shining in the cargo area and went feral, tried to climb in my window. I shanked him with the gearshift knife: the Ace tossed him under the wheels.

Like I said: a good run.

Gastown was like it always is. Stinking, packed with freaks inside and out for the Amnesty. The worst of the lot was waiting for us: the People Eater. He said he was in charge, now. This was not an improvement. The Boys handed over the engine: I said what I was supposed to about the Immortan’s gift to the Wasteland. The People Eater listened with dead eyes, said “Blessed is the Immortan” with a sneer. I agreed with him, inside, and I felt dirty for it. Agreeing with him was too close to how Scabrous used to praise me for my raiding.

We got out of there. It was dusk, the night market was open. That was supposed to be a good time. The brothels there? Hm. Hoped you didn’t notice. That time, it wasn’t a thing: they get expensive during the Amnesty. I got to be crew for a night without that. Walking around, listening to the Boys bluster, watching them challenge each other to eat the weirdest stuff they could from the vendors. What did I have? Maybe some crickets, and this fermented bean soup they do. Not a lot. Nothing with meat, not in Gastown – you avoid that, too, unless you don’t care if you’re a cannibal.

Then the Boys were in the mood to get loose. One of them said we should get some fume. It's a cheap rush, as bad as huffing guzz fumes. Anyone offers it to you, don't talk to them again. Someone else wanted nitrous. Gastown's full of the stuff. Don't touch that, either. It won't hurt you, but other people will, while you're under. You understand?

A third Boy asked about chrome, looked at me. Imperators got a chrome ration. I put him off, said he should wait or he’d crash. Again, don't try it. Some can’t stop with it, others get violent. I keep my face out of it after…an incident. Citadel's still got problems with chrome. I’ll tell you more when they let me out of here. Have you seen the lab? That's another story.

Against all that, I thought it was smart to barter my chrome for shots of moonshine. I had to let the Boys have something - it was the Amnesty. We made the shine at the Citadel but it mostly went out in trade. The barkeep saw my Imperator’s black and poured extra in my glass. Not what I needed. I’m a half-life lightweight with shine: too much is as bad as nitrous. I couldn’t not drink in front of the crew, so.

We all downed the shots. I choked, but some of them did, too. We were laughing. It was…things were all right. We were crew together. I went to one side to clear my throat with a slug of aqua-cola.

Then, I saw her – or thought I did.

A Vuvalini.

She was close to one as I'd seen in six thousand five hundred days. A Wastelander woman, by herself: no mask, no mods, plain hair. Part of being Vuvalini had been that we had human faces, we were still human, even after the Fall. Her clothes were Vuvalini too, dusty brown, covering her. Piercing eyes. Maybe a bit younger than me? Not old enough to be an Initiate, when I was taken. She was looking at me, too. And she started to come closer. Maybe it was the shine talking, but it was like she wanted to ask me something.

She was coming up on my right. Which was important. I turned to meet her, halfway. A good look at me stopped her. She could see my left arm, the mechanical one, and the Immortan's sigil on my belt. She went like stone. Then she backed off, out of the shine tent. On the main pathway, she walked fast. Like when you’re afraid, and trying not to run.

The Ace saw me go weird. With a shot of shine in him, he asked if I’d seen someone I wanted. I’d given up on that, too, after another incident. But going along with it got me out of there, to follow her by myself.

This was stupid. Don't ever go around alone in Gastown, take someone. Hire them if you have to. Even the beggars there pair up.

She was by herself, too, so I thought I had a chance. Also stupid. You know what a mess the Gastown laneways are: twice as bad during the Amnesty. Anybody who doesn’t want to get found won’t be. Then, someone wanted a fight with me. Nothing special, some sphincter with a Citadel grudge. I introduced his face to the pipes. When we were done, there was a crowd watching us, and no finding her. I got back, and the Boys hadn’t missed me: the Ace had stood another round of shine. I told the Boys to head to the 'Dome. There was a chance I'd see her again over there.

We got to the Thunderdome cage. The crowd gave us air. Citadel tended to gather on one side. We had a prime spot for watching, on the bottom, under the People Eater's balcony. Gastown's Arbiter was there. This was the lawman's night. He did a number on the crowd, his way, showing off the engine, getting them to scream. I didn’t. Even then I thought he didn’t deserve that engine’s name in his mouth. Then, the competitors came out.

Yes, Max was with them. I didn’t notice him in the first half. Maybe he was wearing a hood? Zero impression on me. The others were more interesting.

A Buzzard chieftan came out to fight. This was news: they weren’t letting that V8 go easy. The crowd got hard when the People Eater decided the Buzzard could keep his armor on. Then, I noticed something with the other fighters. One of them was a woman.

Not the woman I’d seen earlier. This woman was a fighter and more, a road warrior. A real hardass. Why are you laughing? What? You had to see her. Taller than me, made of muscle, ripped up with scars. I recognize the scars now. She’d been flogged, sometime, flogged hard, and lived through it. Half her head was shaved and the hair she did have was dyed blue. She’d even painted her lips. Her breasts were hardly covered. It was all a message. She was strong enough to be a woman, a real woman, in the Wasteland, and to survive like that.

I wanted her to win. Wanted it as hard as I’d ever wanted anything for myself. I wanted her to kill the lot of them and walk away with that engine.

Didn’t happen. She took two out, she was one of the last three standing. I was screaming for her. Then, she got done. Her throat was slit from behind by the Buzzard. She’d been fighting with Max, almost had him, and when she went down, he turned against the Buzzard. They were the only two left, out of fifteen who went in. I think someone from outside the ‘Dome slipped Max a weapon – seriously against the rules. Max took the Buzzard as the last kill of the fight: beat the Buzzard to death with his own armored helmet. Messy.

Maybe the second time Max came back, he mentioned it had been him. I didn’t connect him to that Thunderdome until he did. He looked different in the ‘Dome, next to the engine. He’d been smiling.

I wasn't. I’d Witnessed, all right. Witnessed that a woman couldn’t win living under the Triumverate’s rules. First that Vuvalini, backing away when she saw what I was. What I'd become. Then that fighter, tougher than me - she died honest when a nobody scav got backed up when he cheated. It left me angry. Angry at the winner, at the cult, at the People Eater and the Arbiter, at myself for thinking I’d had a chance in their world.

After the fight, I wasn’t the only one on edge. Everybody was arguing about whether the winning scav cheated or not. Our Boy who’d waited to chrome up did so, then picked a fight with a Polecat. Witness me, the works. You think a Polecat on the road is bad, try one on their home pipes in Gastown. Every War Boy and Polecat for a hundred meters took sides. I was ranking, I had to break up the Joe-damn mess. Soon, I had our bleeding War Boy in my metal hand, punching him the face myself for his total idiocy, cursing him out.

That was when I saw the Vuvalini again. Or the woman. The fight was blocking where she was trying to go. There was no way for me to drop out of it and still be an Imperator the next day.

She looked at us all in disgust and pulled up a mask. One of the cheap ones, just fabric that hides you. It turned her head into a skull right before my eyes. She wanted to be dead to us all. Slid off to the side, through a gap in the pipes. I never saw her again.

No, I didn’t look for her a third time. There was too much going on. The fight was an excuse for me to drag the crew off at dawn. It’s standard to go home from Gastown worse off than when you arrived. That was me. I never felt deep in any Citadel crew, after that. I blamed Gastown. Swore I’d never get out of the Rig there again.

I should’ve stuck to it. There we were, seven days ago, at another Amnesty Thunderdome, right where the People Eater used to sit. I knew what to expect when another woman went out to fight. At least that one died facing her opponent.

Now that I’m warlord, like it or not, it’s the only strategy of the Immortan’s I’ll keep. Never going back to the Thunderdome.

It’s not ours to shut down. If you want to try…

Toast. Listen. Be careful with your Gastown dealings. You get into that too close, do it too well, you’ll turn into them. Whether you mean to or not. Like I did with the old Citadel, turning into one of them. I thought it was the only way, at the time.

I did ask the Vuvalini about the woman. Turned out she wasn’t one of them. One of us. Keep said “She sounds sensible.”

She never said that about me.

* * *

After that last awkward phrase, Furiosa found herself out of words.

Toast had been fiddling with the breathing mask, listening. Carefully, she folded in its straps. “Furiosa. Thanks. I know some of that already. About not going around alone in Gastown. And working to not be like…the ones who killed the world. Angharad and Miss Giddy talked about that in the Vault. It was all what-if’s at the time. Now, it’s our lives.”

Furiosa nodded.

Toast raised her hands to cup in something invisible. “I know how I want to be. I want to bring what we’re building in the Citadel to the Wasteland. It used to be all division, the one you saw with the Immortan’s cult and the Thunderdome. But there’s room for more, now. Because of what you did, fighting and surviving. Now we have space to talk. We can do what you wanted to, when you saw those Wasteland women, and wanted to connect. Like you talking to me, tonight. Am I making sense? It’s been a long day.”

Talked out, Furiosa said only, “Enough.” Toast was giving her too much credit.

They both started at the shuffle of feet outside the curtain. “I should go. Let you sleep.” Toast whispered. She set the folded mask on Furiosa's pillow, with a pat. It was only a few steps to take her outside the curtain. Furiosa wasn't sure which of the two of them lifted a hand first for a shared, silent goodnight.

Furiosa did hear Toast outside, bluntly responding to Cheedo’s whispers. “She will be soon. Her voice sounded a lot better than before.”

Toast's voice flattened. “Yeah, we were talking.”

Her tone went defensive. “Things. Stuff. When else do we get to talk in this crazy place? Of course I kept an eye on her. She does that for us. Fine, I’ll wash. Where’s that basin…”

The lantern was guttering, dimming gently. Furiosa closed her eyes on her last word: _enough_.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic weaves Furiosa into the events of the Mad Max #1 comic where Max competes in the Thunderdome. Furiosa was still a Citadel Imperator at that time, so if she was there, she'd be part of the Immortan's establishment.
> 
>  _Who is the maybe-Vuvalini?_ Not a Vuvalini, but...Glory's mother, Hope. The Mad Max #2 comic reveals that she lost her daughter to the Buzzards before arriving in Gastown and tried to find someone to help her there. She turned down several people before deciding Max was the one to help her, which led to Max's later haunting by Glory. Here, Hope starts to approach Furiosa, until it becomes clear that Furiosa is one of the Immortan's people.
> 
>  _Who is the woman fighter?_ She's in the Thunderdome fight where Max competes. The comic is subtle about her - it's only clear she's a woman in the last panel where she appears. She almost kills Max!
> 
> This story...my Furiosa muse said, "What does this fandom dislike? The comics AND first person POV? Then I need a comics setting story from my POV!" If you made it this far, thanks for reading.


End file.
